re: #145 Gus

Money doesn’t matter when it doesn’t matter. Or something. Apparently now you can raise a family with no money according to this logic. Money doesn’t even get your kids the health care and education they need. Or something.

A Day In the Life Of… a Mother of Two

1:27 a.m.: The baby’s up. It’s six minutes later than last night, but four minutes earlier than the night before. I’m not sure what time my husband gave Nate a bottle, since I passed out at 9:30 p.m., but I suspect it was around 10 p.m. Three and a half hours between night feedings for a 13-pound baby seems a bit short, but I’ll take what I can get. I nurse him with one boob, change his diaper, nurse him with my other boob, and put him back in the swing.

I realize that I really need to begin transitioning him to sleep in a crib, but I’m too scared to try. I worry about that for a few more minutes.

2:03 a.m.: Should I read to stave off racing thoughts that could lead to insomnia? I decide to finish the chapter, but fall asleep after reading just one page.

2:38 a.m.: “Where’s my Binky?” Toby’s wailing wakes me up instantly. The new deal is that Mama is not going into Toby’s room
anymore until “the clock says 6.” Only Dada is allowed to go in — hopefully being a disappointing enough presence to discourage these new twice-a-night wakings since baby Nate came home from the hospital two months ago. I remind my husband of this policy with a polite but firm shove. He grunts and goes into Toby’s room. I listen to the negotiations in the other room and decide from the tones of voice that there is a 6 percent chance Toby will go back to sleep without insisting on seeing me. I am relieved when my husband returns to bed without a word and a beautiful silence is all that comes out of Toby’s room.

4:12 a.m.: Nate’s up again. Is it worth giving him a Binky to see if he’ll go back to sleep without a feeding? I debate the pros and cons and decide to feed him anyway. I nudge my husband to warn him that the baby is almost done with the second boob. He grunts and gets up to put Nate back down. I drift into blissful sleep knowing my husband is officially responsible for this shift.

6:47 a.m.: Toby is awake and screaming for me. I help him take off his Pull-Ups, use the bathroom, and put on underwear. I snuggle back into bed with Toby but realize that Nate is now awake. Again. I take him out of the swing and bring him back into the bed.

8:21 a.m.: Breakfast. Toby wants four kinds of cereal mixed together. I silently curse myself for being the sort of person who has (literally) nine kinds of cereal on top of the fridge. I wish I weren’t such an inspiration to my son in the cereal-obsession department.

10:12 a.m.: I nurse Nate while my husband gets Toby ready to go with me to the daycare center at my gym. I calculate how long I’ll have there so I can get back in time to nurse, shower, and eat before my husband leaves for work at 1 p.m. The numbers are not adding up.

10:57 a.m.: Toby has a fit at gym daycare when I drop him off because he doesn’t want to stay.

11:07 a.m.: Treadmill. People magazine. Total bliss.

11:48 a.m.: Toby has a fit at gym daycare because he doesn’t want to leave.

12:14 p.m.: I arrive home in a frenzy and notice that my husband is giving Nate the precious bottle of breast milk I pumped last night. I say in a fake calm voice, “Why did you give him the bottle? I was going to nurse him now.” I feel like I want to murder him, then remind myself that it is not an option because I really need his help. He says he can stay an extra hour since he doesn’t have to
see any clients until 2 p.m. I decide that he’s a prince.

1:12 p.m.: My husband leaves for work. I hug him extra long and say, “Please don’t leave me.” He leaves anyway.

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